


The Subtle Art of A Balanced Life

by MattDoesFanfic



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon-Typical Violence, Except Michael, Multi, Pining, no powers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2020-12-26 23:44:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21109142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MattDoesFanfic/pseuds/MattDoesFanfic
Summary: Jon is most of the way through his first year of university at The Magnus Institute of Arts. He's stuck in a melancholy of nostalgia for a past that he hates and pining for a future he can't possibly know.Then Michael shows up. and things go horribly, wonderfully wrong.





	1. Chapter One: The Salty Pug

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm working with vague impressions of what these characters are like. Mostly because I'm only on episode 82 but this fic won't Leave so now it has to exist.

“No, absolutely not.” Jon says firmly.

“Please Jon!” Georgie puts her hand on Jon’s shoulder and gives him those puppy dog eyes that used to get him in so much trouble back when they were dating. Now he doesn’t have that romantic obligation to do things for her. And yet, he feels that tugging in his chest to do this for her.

Jon sighs. “Alright fine.”

Georgie squeals.

“But,” Jon raises a hand. “I will not drink.”

“Oh I don’t care about that.” Georgie waves her other hand. “I just need a plus one. It’d be weird to go with just those two now that they’re dating. So I need you to tag along. And no, before you start, it’s just a friend thing.”

Jon winces. He really didn’t need reminding that they were no longer a thing. They’d broken up in high school and now she was moving on with Melanie, and Jon felt even more alone. Speaking of which…

“Why can’t you just go with Melanie?”

Georgie crinkles her nose. “She has to work a late shift again, so no dice.”

“Right,” 

“Look,” Georgie gestures. “I don’t need you to be social. I kinda don’t even wanna see you try.”

“I’m not that socially inept!” Jon interjects. 

Georgie ignores him. “I just need your physical presence.”

Jon sighs. “Glad to know you want me to be a part of your life.”

Georgie pats his shoulder before removing her hand. “Of course, Jon.”

...

Jon stood outside The Salty Pug. The pub was a two story building. The bottom floor being the actual pub while the top floor was an upstairs loft that the owner presumably lived in. It was one of those new trendy pubs that popped up around universities all around London. This one seemed geared more towards the young hipster demographic. For starters, the name. The Salty Pug, what a ridiculous name. According to Tim, it had gotten that name because “pugs are popular in London and being salty is a thing”, which while technically true was still stupid. 

Jon was staring at the pub sign, a stylized neon orange pug with a disgruntled expression when he heard Georgie and the other two girls coming. They were already starting to chat animatedly and Jon could feel his mind start to check out when Georgie called his name.

“Hey Jon!” She smiled that cheerful smile of hers and for a second he forgot that he didn’t want to be there. “I’ve brought company!”

The two girls had one thing in common, they both had the same stern confidence. One of the girls was tall, with dark brown skin and eyes and was wearing a red and white headscarf. Jon assumed this to be Basira. The other was short, with pale skin and green eyes and hair that seemed to almost smolder with how red it was. He assumed this to be Daisy.

“You remember Basira and Daisy right?” She gestured to the two girls standing beside her, confirming Jon’s assumptions in the process.. “They were in our Calculus class back in secondary school.” 

Truth be told, Jon had spent most of that year preparing his portfolio and hadn't paid much attention to the other students in his year. Still he smiled. “Yes I remember. What uh, have the two of you been getting on with since then?”

Daisy fixed Jon with a hard look that told him point blank that she didn’t give a damn about what he was saying, but Basira answered kindly enough. “We’re both trying to join the police academy. It’s been slow going though since we’re so young and neither of us have our degrees yet.”

Daisy nodded sagely as if to confirm Basira’s statement. Then she asked. “Are we gonna drink or what?”

Georgie smiled. “We are, Jon doesn’t drink.”

Jon waited for the inevitable mockery that always came when people found out he didn’t drink. Instead Basira said. “Yeah I get that. I’m technically not supposed to drink but here we are. Let’s go inside.” 

...

Jon was really starting to regret coming out here a couple of hours into the night. The bar was crowded and the loud sounds of university students having fun was almost too much on it’s own. That coupled with the smell of alcohol and the sound of Georgie complaining drunkenly to Daisy about how her girlfriend was always ditching her for work or studying and you’d have a recipe for a very miserable Jon.

Jon’s mind started to wander off to the cold embrace of a melancholy nostalgia. It was surreal being here. He was surrounded by former classmates and his former high school sweetheart. Had this happened maybe six months ago, he might have been happy. Now he just felt nothing. He wanted to be like Georgie, to be able to move on and start over with his life after her. But he couldn’t. Though to his credit, he almost had. 

Martin had been in Jon’s first year drafting class. He was quiet but not the way Jon was quiet. Martin was timid, borderlining on shy. But when he talked to him, Jon could feel his entire world come into focus. His mind always felt sharper when he sat beside Martin. 

Once, when they’d left class late. Martin had asked him for a ride to the bus station. It was dark and cold and the air was thick and heavy with the smell of an approaching storm.

“Sure.” Jon had said, unable to disguise his own eagerness. “What station?” 

Martin told him the station and they got in Jon’s car. It was old and cramped and had that weird used car smell but Martin seemed to blend right in until he just looked like he’d always been there. Like this was an old routine coming to fruition. They’d talked for the entire ten minute drive. Jon mostly tried to keep the conversation off himself. He was boring, pedestrian. It was Martin that was interesting. Jon learned that Martin was a fine arts major and that he dreamed of becoming a gallery artist. This had struck Jon as very odd. Gallery work required a lot of networking and one look at Martin had told him that Martin was not very good at networking. 

When Jon had dropped Martin off at the bus station. Martin had smiled at him with the most charming of smiles. It was soft and warm with a subtle hint of sadness to it. Martin had thanked him for the ride and said, “See you later, Jon.” before boarding the bus that presumably took him home. That was the last time Jon ever saw Martin

They’d barely know each other more than a semester but Jon knew that he had fallen hard. He’d known it from the moment Martin had bumped into his drafting table that first day of class. So when Martin had stopped coming to class entirely, Jon had been worried. Martin was a lot of things; clumsy and timid being the two major ones. But he was always punctual. 

So every day Jon kept an eye out for Martin and every day he felt a pang of disappointment when Martin was in absentia. Finally he just straight up asked his professor where Martin was. They’d told him he’d dropped out. 

Jon had no reason to feel hurt by it. He barely knew Martin. They’d had one conversation outside of class. And yet, Jon couldn’t help the sense of hurt that flowed through him like boiling tar. Martin had just decided to drop out without a word to him. And Jon had no way of contacting him. No way of getting any explanation or closure. All he had now was the faded memory of a wonderfully mundane conversation and a horrible crush. 

Jon forcibly roused himself from his destructive day dreaming and stood up from the booth. “I need some air.” He said, more to himself than to the group.

“Are you okay? Do you need me to come with you?” Basira asked but Jon just shook his head before walking back outside. 

The night air was cold on his face. The sky was a deep inky black with the lights of the shops and bars illuminating an otherwise empty street. Jon stood under the neon orange sign of The Salty Pug and tried to focus on the world around him. Directly across the street from him was a dark alleyway. Bin bags were piled high up beside the overflowing dumpster but otherwise he couldn’t see much inside it. But he knew something was in that alleyway. He could feel it in the cold sweat that began to trickle down the back of his neck and in the shake of his palms. 

“It’s rude to stare, you know?” The voice that came across the alleyway was quiet but also loud. It felt like the sound was coming from directly in front of him but he knew it was coming from inside the darkened alley. The voice was cold, and shook with a deep tremor. Not like the tremor of fear. No whatever was in that alley was not afraid of Jon. 

Jon watched in horror and one of what he had thought was a bin bag uncurled itself into the vague outline of a man. He was shrouded in darkness but Jon could see that the vague shape of his hands, his large and sharp hands.

With a courage Jon didn’t know he possessed, he called out. “It’s rude to yell at people from across the damn street.”

“Hmmn,” The Quiet But Loud Voice spoke. “I suppose you’re right.”

There was a gust of warm air and the unmistakable sound of a wooden door slamming and then Jon felt a presence beside him. He turned to see a tall, blonde man standing beside him. He was handsome, but in an uncomfortable sort of way. His features taken on their own were beautiful: long curly blonde hair that fell to his waist, a high sharp face, and eyes that were neither brown nor blue nor any other shade that Jon could recognize. Assembled together however, it came to be quite unsettling a picture. Jon looked down at the man’s hands and saw that they were perfectly normal.

“Well Jon, you have my presence. What did you want to do with it?” The man’s voice was that same combination of quiet and loud. A combination that shouldn’t be possible and the impossibility of it made Jon’s head ache. Wait…

“I didn’t want your presence and how did you know my name?”

The man laughed and immediately Jon felt woozy. The sound seemed to bounce around his head like a bullet. “Oh but you did want my presence.”

“No I didn’t and how did you know my name? “Jon repeated. 

“What is a name really but a sequence of letters and sounds used to denounce identification? It has no meaning or purpose.” The man grinned at Jon with shining white teeth that seemed to glow in the dark. 

Again Jon repeated. “So why do you know mine?”

“I have been here for so long Jon. Do you think I do not know who comes and goes?” The man’s voice was dry with irritation and Jon felt a low dread settle in his stomach. 

“I suppose.” Jon stammered. “But um, who are you then?”

The man smiled again. “I am not merely a who, I am a what Jonathan. But you may refer to me as Michael.”

Michael reached up and set his hand against Jon’s face and the buzz of fear and panic that shot through him was almost enough to send him to the floor in sheer terror. Michael’s hands were heavy, heavier than they should have been, and the ends of them were sharp and cutting. His, or possibly it’s, nails dug into the side of Jon’s cheek. 

“See you later, Jonathan.” There was a slicing sound as Jon’s cheek was torn open. He hit the floor hard, clutching his face in pain. There was so much blood, more than there should have been. Jon must have hit the ground hard because he could feel a cold darkness seeping into the edges of his mind. The last thing he heard as unconsciousness began to overtake him was the sound of a wooden door closing. 


	2. Chapter Two: Worse Things Than Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So fun fact, I had the majority of this written a couple days after posting the first chapter. And then I forgot to like... publish it. Whatever, It's November so I'm legally obligated to write more of this AU now.

Jon wakes up and his face is burning. Not like a hot flush but a searing pain that makes his world spin even though he’s laying down. Jon reaches out to touch his face and finds a bandage covering most of his cheek. Confused, he tries to sit up but falls back on the bed. 

“Wait, what?” Jon’s voice sounds distorted and hoarse in his own head.

He doesn’t remember how he got in his bed. Jon remembers the pub, going outside for some air and...

Suddenly a wave of dizziness washes over him as he remembers the strange apparition from the alley. He can still hear the echoes of it’s laughter rattling around in his skull and his face burns worse than over.

It’s Tim’s voice that brings him back to the present. “Oh good, you’re up.”

“Nominally, yes.” Jon’s voice has a bit of sarcasm to it which is a relief. 

“Well that’s better than you being passed out at least.”

Tim is a tall man. He’s got dark curly black hair that’s not that much different from Jon’s. But where Jon’s hair is a wild mess from inconsistent hygiene, Tim’s is mused and curled in such a way that couldn’t have been anything but intentional. And Jon’s spent enough time waiting outside the bathroom in the morings to know how intentional it is. 

“So,” Tim continues and it takes all of Jon’s strength to pay attention. “You wanna tell me what happened?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I did.” Jon says glibly.

“Probably,” Tim smiles without humor. “But I did have to drive to the ER at 4 AM to pick your ass up so I think I deserve some kind of explanation. Even if it is bullshit.”

“It was 4 AM?” That made Jon’s head spin. It hadn’t been long after midnight when..

“Yeah, Basira and Georgie found you outside the bar. You were covered in blood.” Tim’s voice had taken on a more serious tone.

“Oh God,” Jon sat up and ran a nervous hand through his hair. “Are they okay? They weren’t attacked were they?”

“So it was an attack then?” Tim steps forward and places a hand on Jon’s shoulder. “Jon, what happened?”

So Jon begins to explain. He tells of the strange man in the alley, of his voice that makes Jon dizzy just thinking about it. He tells of how it knew his name and how it sliced up his face with sharp hands. For his part, Tim listens intently. He has always been good at that. It’s one of the things Jon likes most about him. 

Tim’s voice is tense with thought. “So this Michael thing shows up to scare you and slice you clean but doesn’t stick around to hurt anyone else?” 

“Maybe he’s scared of the police finding him?” Jon proposes. But it’s ridiculous. A thing like that had nothing to fear from the cops. Truth be told, Jon doubted it had anything to fear from anything.

“Doubt it.” Tim slaps Jon on the shoulder and Jon nearly keels over. “But whatever the reason, we need to be careful. Okay?”

Jon nods. “Right. Now do you mind leaving me for a bit? I wanna call Georgie and let her know I’m okay.”

“Yeah I don’t wanna be there for that.” Tim smiel his best easy smile and Jon watches him walk out of the room.

The call with Georgie is difficult. She asks the same questions Tim did but Jon decides to leave out the more… upsetting aspects of the encounter. If Michael is something otherworldly then Jon doesn’t want Georgie to have to worry about it. Thankfully she seems to buy his “drunk vagrant” excuse for who assaulted him. Jon briefly wonders if the thing that calls itself Michael would be angry about being called a vagrant but he puts that out of his mind.

He decides to go get some tea from the coffee shop down the road. Mindful of the bandages, he changes his clothes and starts off. Tim doesn't say much, just raises an eyebrow and tells him to be careful.

The walk from his and Tim’s shared apartment to the coffee shop but the whole way Jon is checking over his shoulder. He swears he sees a flash of blonde curls in the corners of his vision and Jon swears he hears the sound of a wooden door slamming on the wind and he’s nearly panicking by the time he steps through the door of the coffee shop.

Jon stops dead as the voice of one of one of the baristas floats over to him. “Hello, I can take your order at the bar.”

It’s Martin. 

A million thoughts race through Jon’s head at once. He wants to turn around and walk right back outside. But the memory of those shutting wooden doors and a cruel laugh on the wind keeps him inside. He supposes Michael’s done him a favor by scaring him in here. But Jon can’t see it that way. He wants to march up to the counter and demand Martin tell him why he left. But that’s stupid too. He has no right to that information and he knows it. There’s no reason he should feel anything about Martin leaving. But he does.

He settles on simply walking up to the counter and pretending like nothing’s wrong. Tim would be proud of his rational. “Grande Matcha please, no milk.”

“You do know this is a coffee house right? We serve coffee here.” Martin says in mock sarcasm as he rings him up and Jon can't help but smile, even if the joke isn’t all that great. 

“Eh, what’s life without a little adventure?” Jon shrugs.

“Adventure! Jon,” Martin looks him dead in the eyes. “You’re drinking Matcha. I serve this stuff to 30 year old yoga moms and pretentious grad students. You’re not having any kind of adventure.”

Jon lets out a breathy laugh. “Fair enough. I’m surprised you remember my name.”

Martin finishes ringing him up and Jon goes to stand at the other end of the counter to watch him make his tea. Martin’s curly blonde hair is tinted a bit red in the light that drifts in from the store windows. He’s thinner than Jon remembers and Jon knows it’s probably nothing but he can’t help but worry.

“So,” Jon can feel the flush on his face. “How’s life been? I haven’t heard much from you since you uh… left.”

Martin stops, hand poised over the valve for the hot water. “I’m alright, been working here for a bit.”

Jon’s surprised. “Oh, I guess I just haven’t seen you around.”

But he knows that not it. He’s been coming here for almost a year now and he’s never seen Martin working here before. The look Martin gives confirms his suspicions, his face is carefully schooled but his eyes are borderlines panicked. 

At a loss for anything else to say, Jon simply lets his words tumble out of his mouth. “I’ve missed seeing you, you know.”

This seems to catch Martin off guard. “Really?” 

“Well yeah,” Jon rubs the back of his neck. “I miss having somebody who knows what they’re doing in class. You wouldn’t believe the idiots I have to deal with in there.”

“Bold of you to assume I ever know what I’m doing.” Martin positively grins and Jon thinks it’s the most delightful thing he’s ever seen.

“Okay fair but you were still good company.” Jon says.

“Well,” Martin looks around nervously. “I get off at five. What do you say to the two of us meeting up here and catching up?”

“That sounds,” Jon can’t think of a word to say how wonderful that sounds. “Lovely.”

“Great!” Martin’s voice is high and soft. “See you later, Jon.”

Martin hands Jon his now finished tea and as he does so, Martin’s fingers gently brush Jons’. Jon’s brain doesn’t really know how to process that. It’s a simple touch. It should mean nothing but it means the world to Jon. He doesn’t register the smile Martin gives him as he walks out the door. 

Except instead of a small parking lot, Jon walks out into a hallway. Too late, he realizes the door he walked out of wasn’t the glass door of the coffee shop but a pale blue pocket door. How had he not noticed?

The hallway he finds himself in is long, unimaginably long. He looks to either side and sees it stretching out into what can only be described as infinity. The walls are covered in a wallpaper whose swirling pattern is borderline painful to look at. The carpet is yellow with a black rug that bares the same spiraling pattern as the wallpaper. Jon feels his heart sink as he hears the sound of the wooden door sliding closed. Jon turns around, but where there should be a handhold to slide open the door, there’s just twisting wallpaper. He feels along the wall, looking for where the pocket that would normally house the open sliding door. But the walls are solid and unhollow. 

“The door is gone, Jonathan.” A voice calls from somewhere down the hallway. Jon turns and sees the impossibly tall apparition leaning against a mirror. 

Without the darkness of the previous night, Jon can see it clearly now. It is tall, six and a half feet easily. It’s hair falls down past it’s shoulders and rests along the small of it’s back in tight curls. It’s face is round and soft and deceptively unthreatening. But it’s pale eyes hold a kind of mischievous malice that makes every hair on Jon’s body stand on end. Jon risks a glance at its hands and finds them to be soft and mostly human looking, though they look like they have too many bones in them.

“Where am I? Why did you bring me here? Let me out!” The words tumble out of Jon’s mouth in a rush a pure terror. He only stops when the thing that calls itself Michael raises an overly boney hand.

“I wanted to talk to you Jonathan Sims. And this place is the most private place I know.” Michael’s voice is measured but it echoes down the hallway in a way that makes Jon’s head spin.

“You could’ve just ambushed me in an alleyway again.” Jon says, hoping to whatever god there may be that his bluntness doesn’t offend this creature.

Michael laughs his sickening laugh. “I don’t think you could handle meeting in another alleway, Jonathan. But thank you for the offer.”

“Well,” Jon sweeps his hands out in front of him. “You have me cornered. Now what?”

“Oh I just wanted to talk.” Michael’s grin is wide and full of sharp flat teeth. “And to give a warning.”

“A warning?” Jon’s voice is small. “About what?”

Suddenly Michael is in front of him. A tall looming presence whose eyes are alight with emotions that Jon cannot even begin to trace. “A warning that there are far worse things out there than me.”

And just like that, Jon’s back outside the coffee house, the sound of a wooden door slaming shut dying in his ears.

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come bother me on Tumblr so I'll remember to update this fic.  
I'm michael-fuckhands

**Author's Note:**

> If you wanna pester me about this podcast or just in general. I'm michael-fuckhands on Tumblr.


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